


She looks like you, and I am constantly in awe of that.

by MythologyPastry



Category: How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000), How the Grinch Stole Christmas! - Dr. Seuss
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Arguing, Awkward Conversations, Breaking and Entering, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, Children, Christmas, Complicated Relationships, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Family, Fantastic Racism, Fatherhood, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gossip, Holding Hands, I mean, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, Motherhood, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Canon Compliant, Old Married Couple, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Pining, Revelations, Slow Build, Vandalism, We get there when we get there, What the hell is wrong with me, as the side relationship, he's the grinch, i just realized an hour after christmas ended that i never tagged christmas, i'll add more tags as they become relevant, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27601589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythologyPastry/pseuds/MythologyPastry
Summary: Martha's usual morning routine is thrown for a loop when she sees someone at her doorstep.The Grinch doesn't know how to feel when he finds out.
Relationships: The Grinch/Martha May Whovier
Comments: 141
Kudos: 120





	1. How can someone so precious exist? How can I call them mine?

**Author's Note:**

> This work is something that just came to me as a silly idea one night. I've been adding chapters as I get the time. Here's hoping for a nice Christmas time ending! (But I'll take New Years too if I have to.)

Martha May Whovier is nothing if not an early riser. She loves the morning: the smell of freshly cut grass; a cup of coffee, with plenty of cream, of course; the song of birds dancing in the orange sky. But, this morning is different. It starts with wailing in her ears, and a glance at the clock tells her that instead of her usual, lovely 8am rise, it is instead 3am and counting.

She rubs the sleep out of her eyes as she gets up, slipping on her most adorable slippers, soft velvet the shade of peridot. Instead of birdsong, her own grumbles and the mysterious whining fill her ears. It is, needless to say, an unpleasant way to find oneself.

It's coming from outside her house, but how far? She hears it loudest from her front room parlor, and thoughts race. Perhaps it is a neighbor, and there is an accident, and she can help them. Maybe it is a stranger, crying to no one particular. Or, Martha could just be crazy.

She almost wants to admit she's crazy, because part of her is half convinced that it's a baby out on her front stoop, and the delirium of that thought propels her forward towards the door. She opens it slowly, the door creaking with anticipation, and the crying gets louder.

It's a baby. More accurately, there's a half-torn pumbersella, a delicately designed wicker basket attached to the most dreadful ripped fabric the shape of a lampshade. And inside lies a beautiful baby lying upon a blanket that reminds Martha of the sun.

More importantly is that the baby is olive and horrified by its current existence outside in the cold, and Martha could cry herself if she wasn't so amazed by her luck.

A baby! She's always wanted a baby. Sure, her parties might become less intricate, and she might have to reschedule, and even remove entirely, certain activities, but motherhood had both called and evaded her for many years.

But a _what?_ She couldn't even do anything as Grinch's schoolmate when he ran away. How is she supposed to mother one? How would she make sure that her baby was taken care of when she isn't around? How would she make sure her baby loved themselves as they were?

The last question is stupid; she knows this fine rightly. She loves her child more than anything, and they haven't even graced her life for over a minute. Martha will make sure that her child knows her love, and she will make sure that no one who questions or undermines that stays around.

She picks up the baby, a girl she notes, and cradles her to her chest, singing nonsense back to the quickly calming child. Bright chartreuse eyes look back at her, hesitantly happy at this newfound development.

"Hello," Martha coos excitedly. "I'm your mother." The babe giggles, and Martha smiles, and the two of them retreat back into the house, pumbersella left forgotten on the stoop.


	2. It's like a flash from the past.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martha invites two old biddies over.

She names the baby Olivia because she thinks its fitting and goes back out to recover the pumbersella and blanket once she's decided that Olivia needs more rest. The pumbersella makes as a nice makeshift crib, as Martha's own parents had done with her as a babe, and Martha's already decided that she'll keep the blanket to have fashioned into a quilt for when the girl is older.

But, more importantly, she needs to figure out what to do, so she turns to her phone book to call the Grinch's mothers. They had always been so sweet to her, especially after Grinch had left. Sara and Charlene would know what to do.

She calls, and Sara answers tiredly on the third ring. "Hello, this is Sara speaking. Who is this?"

"Hi Sara, this is Martha May. I'm sorry to call you so early in the morning, but I had a pumbersella appear, and I really need help with the baby." And that is part of it, it really is, but she also can't wait to see the joy on their faces when they realize who Livvy resembles.

"Oh, dear, of course, and with your mother... I'll be there right away, and I'll bring 'Lene with me too. You poor thing, we'll get you sorted." Sara laughs and hangs up.

Martha's heart pangs at the thought her mother won't be here to see her through motherhood. That realization hadn't sunk in for her before now. Her mother would be proud; she's certain.

She puts the phone down and returns to her baby. Olivia's little snout scrunches as she wiggles and cries, maybe hungry. Martha has no idea what the Grinch liked eating besides glass and onions, but would he have eaten those as a baby? She goes upstairs and looks through her work desk. She knows that there's some useless birthday gift from Augustus somewhere in there. There, in the very back corner of the very bottom drawer, lay a hideously overpriced millefiori paperweight in the shape of a star.

And if Olivia eats it, that's just knocking out two birds with one stone.

She comes back downstairs and offers the star to Olivia cautiously but laughs when the baby practically rips it from her fingers and eagerly chomps down, growling all the while. Then, the baby gives her a curious look before giggling herself.

"There, isn't that better," Martha says calmly, pushing back a green lock of fur on her daughter's forehead. "Eat as much as you need, sweetie."

Olivia eats two points of the star and puts the remainder to her side, so Martha pulls the mangled paperweight out of the basket and leaves it on the coffee table as the door rings.

"No," the baby grumbles, to Martha's delight.

"Now, now, it's alright," she says and opens the door to see the bubbly faces of Sara and Charlene waiting for her. Charlene pulls her in for a hug, while Sara goes immediately for the pumbersella. "Her name's Olivia," Martha calls out before Sara reaches the other side of her couch.

"We brought some old things of-" The old woman stops. " _Oh,_ Martha."

Sara begins to cry, and Charlene pushes forward to see what's the issue, and when she sees Olivia, she begins to cry too. Martha's heart swells, and she can't help but wipe away a tear herself.

"Hello, darling," Sara coos, her voice shaky. "We're so excited to see you. You remind me of someone very dear."

Olivia slowly blinks before letting out a soft burp.

"She really is just like him," Charlene says in amazement. "Has she been fed?"

"I had some ideas on what to feed her," Martha says, walking over to carefully pick up the star by a surviving point. "But besides glass and onion scraps, I can't think of much else."

Sara rummages through her bag. "Apple cores! And banana peels, and any vegetables you wouldn't normally eat. Sardines always made him happy too. But really, Grinch would eat anything that wasn't too sweet; he just preferred other things is all. I wasn't sure what to bring, but I found some old cloth diapers of his, and we can always bring you our feeding chair another time. Oh! And I have some bibs, and-" She breaks off from her rant, pulling out small trousers and shirts hesitantly.

Charlene rubs at her wife's back and looks back at the younger Who. "Were you expecting a pumbersella?"

Martha shakes her head. "Not at all."

Charlene nods and leaves her hand on Sara's back. "Neither were we, but we loved him all the same."

"Yes," Sara says. "Yes, we did."

Martha anxiously tugs at the sleeves of her nightgown. "Would you like to stay the night? Or even come back for dinner later today?"

Sara and Charlene look at each other before looking back at the baby. "I think we best go home," Sara says for the two of them. "But I think we'd love to come back for dinner. Wouldn't we?"

Charlene smiles. "Yes, and we can bring the feeding chair then too."

Martha claps her hands together, and Olivia herself copies the motion. "I will see you then. Thank you again. I really do appreciate your help so short notice."

Sara laughs, giving Martha a huge hug, before taking her wife's hand and leading the two of them to the stoop. "You call us if you need anything, anything at all."

"I know," Martha says, watching the older women make their way to their car in her driveway. She doesn't close the door until they're on the street and she's made a spectacle of herself waving them off.

She returns to her child, tucking her in as the baby nods off, and lays down on the couch to make up for her own lost sleep.


	3. We want better for you than what we have now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner rolls around, and warnings are given.

The next day, Martha dresses Olivia in one of the Grinch's old outfits and her heart stutters at just how like him she looks. It's not just the green fur; she has his chin and his eye shape.

Martha wishes he was here to compare side by side. She doesn't want to consider her memory's failing her in this regard.

She spends most of her day attending to her babe, not surprised that Olivia finishes the rest of the paperweight by the time they expect their guests. Sara and Charlene happily show her the high chair and stroller they pulled out of a closet for the new mother. Martha puts the stroller by the front door for now; she'll go out with Olivia tomorrow to grab supplies.

They sit to a wonderful roast, Olivia chewing on the scraps of onion peel that Martha set aside for her.

The two older women coo over Olivia all night. While the babe had been quiet and grumpy the previous night with the two strangers, by now she smiles at their attention, proudly showing them how far she can throw her leftovers.

The onion peels sadly drift to the floor, inches away from her little stubby fingers, but Sara and Charlene cheer regardless.

"Tomorrow I'm going to take her into town," Martha says with some thought. "I would like to get her some more outfits and shoes. Toys, too."

Charlene pointedly stares at her wife, and Sara sighs before turning her full attention to Martha. "I must warn you, people might not be very kind." Sara's face drops, clearly reliving unpleasant memories. "They will find her quite a sight, you know. And with Grinch up on Mt. Crumpit, it might even be worse for you than it was for us."

"A lot more questions and _unnecessary_ opinions," Charlene adds.

Sara nods. "You'll be able to tell who your real friends are, for sure. We luckily didn't have much problem, but there were a few we haven't really spoken to in years."

"I'm sorry," Martha says. "I know it must not be easy."

"Most people don't make a big deal of it with us anymore," Charlene quietly admits before giving an awkward laugh. "They just don't bring him up. They either feel bad for us because our son doesn't visit, or they're happier for it."

"Now, that doesn't mean he won't visit us one day." Sara gives Martha a small smile. "I will always have that hope."

Martha pushes her plate aside, her stomach suddenly too upset to consider another bite. "How many times did you go up to look for him?"

Sara and Charlene look at each other uncomfortably, but it is Sara who answers. "We went looking for him when he first disappeared. We never thought to search the top of Mt. Crumpit. It seems impossible, in a way." Her eyes shine with tears. "He was so young. I hate imagining him hiking that alone, and then, the mayor called off the search after a few weeks." Her tone drops at this, a rare sight of anger from such a pleasant Who, hands trembling with a rage that Martha fully understands. Augustus could never understood what she held against his father. "He was an adult by the time anyone in Whoville let us know he was up there, and he didn't want to see us."

Taking her wife's hand, Charlene presses a firm kiss on her fingers. "Sara and I are too old to climb it now."

Martha stares down at her tablecloth. It's beautiful, befitting of the season: orange blossoms and greenery; a stark white, lace border around the garden scene. In context of their conversation, it feels overtly cheerful, cheap in some grand cosmic sense that Martha is too tired to riddle out.

"I'm sorry."

"Martha, you have nothing to apologize for," Sara says firmly. "You were a good friend to him, and you will be a great mother to this baby."

Martha looks over at Livvy, who seems quite discomforted by the emotion of the table. The baby's eyes flicker over the women before settling on her mother and gesturing to be picked up.

The old biddies laugh and smile, encouraging Martha to spend time with her daughter as they clean up. Sara practically pushes her from her seat. "Go sit down with her. I insist!"

Martha takes Olivia back to the living room, their makeshift nursery, and sits with her on the couch. Bright green eyes meet hers as they cuddle, and Martha lets herself mindlessly play with the locks of fur on her baby's head. In this lighting, Olivia's irises look like mini peridots, but the sight doesn't last long, the baby soothed to sleep by her mother's affection.

By the time Sara and Charlene finish up, the young mother is also asleep, run ragged by both the discussion and her first day looking after a child. Sara gently takes Olivia and places her in the pumbersella, and Charlene tucks a yellow blanket around Martha's body.

"I want to take a picture," Sara says quietly as they leave.

"Dear, we didn't bring a camera."

"Next time, then. Don't let me forget."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I hate writing four female characters at once. I'm always afraid readers will get confused to whom a pronoun refers.
> 
> Something to look forward to next chapter: Martha bumps into someone familiar in town.


	4. It's all a matter of adjustment.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martha makes her first trek with baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be me, thinking I should only post, at most, a chapter a day.
> 
> Also be me, and not be able to resist my most basic urges. Hope you enjoy the double chapter palooza.

Martha swipes her most beloved shade of red onto her lips, curling her hair and tying it up with her most practical brown ribbon. She rarely wears pants because she loves the feeling of wind between her legs, but she's also never gone on errands with a baby. She figures she can look nice while also preparing for the worst.

She comes down in jeans and a yellow blouse, checking up on Olivia in her stroller at once. The baby is groggy, having woken up in the middle of the night prior to which Martha had spent hours trying to get her to settle back down.

But Martha is too wired on coffee and nerves to be tired, and with that, she ventures into town. She doesn't think she'll ever forget the first person to walk past her and Olivia; he's an older Who, and his eyes widen comically at Livvy. But, to his credit, he exhales and asks, "Are you two having a good day?"

Martha smiles victoriously. "The best."

"Good." And with that, he walks past, and her steps quicken, just the tad most confident. The Whovier family threw a lot of parties and events; Martha knows awkward small talk when she sees it. But, that was much better than what she feared, by a long shot.

But she's not stupid, and she waits for someone in town to run their mouth, so she can make note of anyone to avoid. She'd rather draw these boundaries now, rather than when Olivia is old enough to remember.

The two of them go around Martha's favorite thrift shop, where Martha makes sure to stock up on plenty of old glass and ceramic cups, trinkets, and knickknacks. She refuses to let any of her fine china go to Livvy; it's one of Martha's favorite connections to her own mother.

_"Your great-grandmother bought me this set, when I got married. One day, when you get married, I'll give it to you too."_

Martha shakes her head. Her mother never expected to die so young. She looks down at Olivia, her precious olive bundle of fluff, as a way of grounding herself.

After they check out, the cashier pointedly making an effort to smile at the baby, Martha leads them to a local kid's store. She's shopped there before for a cousin's child, and she trusts that she'll find something of value there.

And she does! Martha makes a stack of clothes she's found appropriate for her daughter. There's a white linen dress embroidered with lilacs, and dark green booties, a yellow polka dot onesie, and more.

She has the money to spend, and if she wants to spend it on dressing up her baby, then that's that. Martha lets Livvy pick out the toys, grabbing whatever the baby points to as long as it's age appropriate. At one point, the baby points at a complicated puzzle, and Martha laughs.

"Not yet, sweetie."

Olivia's snout wrinkles, and the baby starts to wail, so Martha decides to check out ASAP. There's already a few more parents giving her looks of exhaustion and frustration, and she doesn't want any other children to be set off listening to her daughter cry.

But as she waits on her total and Livvy finally starts to settle down, a mother passes by with her kid. The boy is maybe around five years old, and he stares at Olivia with consternation. "What's wrong with her?" He asks Martha.

The other woman peers down to see what he's talking about, and she instantly frowns, quickly grabbing her son by the hand and pulling him away from Martha and Livvy. "Not another word," Martha hears her say.

"There's nothing wrong with my daughter," she calls after them. "She just happens to be green!"

While she's still uncomfortable and a tad bit angry at the other mother's response, Martha isn't sure how to vent that appropriately, so she squats down to meet her daughter's eyes. "There's nothing wrong with you. He just hasn't seen anyone like you before."

Olivia looks at her like she doesn't believe a word of that, before chirping, "Cup!"

Martha pulls out a cracked blue glass she brought from home. "Nothing from the store until it gets washed."

Her daughter pushes the glass away from her when Martha goes to give it to her, angrily demanding the cup.

"No," Martha says firmly. "No cup."

The baby screeches.

"Um, could you pay?"

"Oh," Martha says, scrambling back up to see the cashier behind the counter that holds her many bags. "Of course! I would love to."

So a few minutes later, they leave. Martha has several bags stashed in the back of the stroller and some dangling on each arm. She has a complicated relationship with stress shopping, but she had to take Olivia outside at some point.

She goes to the town center, her final test of the day. A few blocks from the store, Olivia had finally calmed down enough to nap, and Martha takes advantage of the baby's calmness to amble around. She purposely smiles as wide as possible whenever someone looks at the stroller, catching a few other Whos off guard as they scramble to give their niceties.

However, by the time she reaches the Saturday Market, a certain man is standing in front of her. She can see the shock, despair, and disgust in his wounded eyes, and she steels herself. Not for the first time in her life, she is in the unwanted attentions of Augustus Maywho.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot wait for the next chapter... once I write it, that is.


	5. Lies spread like fires.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Augustus and Martha have a terribly public showdown, and one of them says something that they really shouldn't have.

"Martha, I," He shakes his head, and the two of them form an uncomfortable blockade between two stands. "What is this? What is the meaning of this?"

She blinks and goes to speak, but the cogs in her brain stall at his question. "Excuse me?"

Augustus' eyes flash. When he speaks, it's as if ash coats his tongue. "When did you get a pumbersella?"

"Just a few days ago," She says hesitantly.

"And you couldn't have told me? I would have helped you!" He laughs, to her displeasure. She's never reached out for anything from him before. Why would she start now?

Especially when she watches him look down at Livvy with open disgust. Her baby is a joke to him. Martha quickly lowers the cover on the stroller. She doesn't want her daughter to be part of this conversation, not yet. She's not old enough for such stupid grievances, for the heartbreak.

"I have everything sorted."

He raises an eyebrow and gestures at her with his signature brand of pompousness. "Clearly that's not true. There's been a mistake." He smiles widely, a bit too forced even by her standards. "There has to have been. _Martha_ , Whos and Whats don't belong together." 

Martha stares at him in silent horror, but he continues despite the growing revulsion in her throat that fights for its chance to speak, in open rebellion of all the social norms Martha's always followed. He lowers his voice for the next part, as if saying the name will lure him from Mt. Crumpit. "We should take the thing up the mountain and let the Grinch take care of her."

The dam breaks. "Absolutely not!" Her voice rings, and she can tell the people around them are shocked by the sound when they flee towards other stands, but Martha doesn't care. Olivia's silence ends, and Martha's heart tightens at the sound of her baby's crying. Part of her feels guilty for the volume, but she knows how pitiful Augustus Maywho is. He will always live in this childlike delusion if she doesn't set fire to it herself.

"Martha..."

"You cannot suggest that I dump my child like some trash in your stupid Dumpit to Crumpit scheme!" She lightly bumps at her chest to quell the thrashing of her heartbeat. "She might look like him, but that doesn't make her any less mine. Who or What, I don't care. I love my daughter with all I am, and I will not have you suggest this was some cosmic mistake. "

Augustus shakes his head. He looks like a child. "You know that's not true."

She laughs out of disbelief and challenges him with, "So what is?"

His eyes track the people openly watching them, and he says quite firmly, "The Book of Who states that-"

"Don't you dare quote that book at me!" Her head pounds with fury and the sound of her daughter's upset. Martha tugs at the stroller to go back the way she's came. To go home. To get as far away from him as possible. "I know what it says."

He follows her, false calm in his voice when he says, "It states that pumbersella children come molded in their parent's image. Really now, Martha, she belongs with him. It's not right, you being her parent. People will talk." His voice drops even lower; his fear shows. He pleads, "People will think you two are an item."

"Let them think whatever they want," she bites back and continues on her way. Martha's eyes prick with tears, and she ignores Augustus with a great sense of purpose. All she wants to do is go home and wash that cup for Livvy to eat. All she wants is to comfort her babe and tell her everything will be okay.

Eventually he breaks off from his pursuit, but Martha still feels chased regardless.

* * *

Later, a Who that Augustus can't name comes towards him on the street. He recognizes him as one of the vendors, one that stood unfortunately close to him and Martha. "I'm sorry, Mayor, but I must ask... The Grinch has been up on that mountain for some time now, and he rarely comes down, but that child looks just like him. Will the Grinch be coming back down to be with his family?"

Augustus hates this question more than any other one he's ever been asked. He ponders it for a moment and ignores his initial desire to whine. It's unstately.

Then he gets an idea. An awful idea. A wonderful, awful idea.

He leans in towards his fellow Who. "You misunderstand," he says with a firm tone of gravity. "The people of Whoville have always known the Grinch to be quite miserable and heartless. That hasn't changed. He must have received that pumbersella himself up on Crumpit and came down to drop the child off with someone else. Martha's just so nice that she can't imagine even the Grinch rejecting his responsibility as a parent."

The other man's eyes comically widen, and a smile coats his face like paint. "You think the Grinch gave up his own child?"

Augustus' brows furrow, and he murmurs, "Is that so out of character?"

"No, Mayor, I suppose it isn't."

It's working. Augustus half believes it himself. He smiles. "Between you and me, of course."

"Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less work means more writing, baby!


	6. I don't know what you mean.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grinch is told something confusing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This is a fanfic set in an alternate canon where that takes place before the events of the movie would have occurred. You can imagine it as a few months before, if that is helpful.

Martha and Olivia quickly fall into a routine, and Martha returns to work. Sara and Charlene are happy to babysit their pseudo-granddaughter whenever they are free, and when they aren't, Martha's neighbor Betty is happy to oblige for a minimal fee. Her daughter Cindy often helps take care of the baby herself, asking questions whenever she thinks of them. One day, the little girl's clearly been informed of someone new. Martha blames the brothers of the family, the boys who look at the older woman with amusement in their eyes.

She knows the gossip. She's not an idiot, but the idea that people believe that mockery makes her want to scream.

"Is Olivia's dad the Grinch?"

Martha doesn't answer the question at first. She doesn't know how. Her mouth goes tight, but she forces some light into her eyes as she says, "No."

Cindy's face scrunches up at that one. Everyone knows that all children have two parents, and the little girl had gone with the most obvious option. She opens her mouth to speak again, but Martha jumps to it first.

"I don't know if Livvy has another parent, Cindy. It's only ever been me."

While she's clearly not convinced by that answer, Cindy lets it go and leaves to see her mother. Martha takes Olivia and leaves, a familiar distress growing in her stomach.

She cannot help but feel more and more uncomfortable about the truth she's been denying. Olivia looks so much like him, and the resemblance never lessens. It's not a trick of the light. It's not the shared furry face. It's deeper than that, something that only the pumbersella can provide.

When the Grinch arrived, Sara and Charlene had been insulted, and questioned, and ignored due to the lack of resemblance between them and their son. Never in Whoville's history had a pumbersella delivered a child so different before. But the two women had stood their ground, and Martha looks up to them for it. She hopes that she can be as strong as they are, one day.

She had been grateful when they told her that story one night. It made her cry. It made her hope. It made her remember her encounter with Augustus, and that had made her rage.

But regardless of that, and regardless of the fact that it's been years since she saw him, Martha knows that Olivia comes from the Grinch. She's not just Martha's. She's his too.

She puts her baby to bed, and she sits at her desk, and she thinks until her cheeks are red and wet from tears. She has to tell him. There's no other option. She'll make sure that Livvy's watched that day, and Martha will go up and climb that mountain until she finds him. She wants to tell him herself. She wants to see Olivia's face when she meets her daddy.

She wants him to come down and see it for himself.

But she's so afraid that even their baby won't make him come back. Martha's chest throbs at the thought, but the reality of their separation's still there. All she has of him is a memory and a one-sided love long-held.

Martha has always defended him, at least in her heart, but having a child together doesn't mean that he will love her, nor does it mean that he will stay.

But she knows he'll love Livvy, in his own way. Of that, Martha is certain. After all, their daughter's not a Who, not like Martha. Martha, who is so Who that he has never visited her. That he has never forgiven her for something that wasn't her fault to begin with.

Oh, how the memory of that makes her cry even harder.

Oh, how she wants him to forgive her.

If not for her, for Olivia, _please_.

* * *

It's a few months till Christmas, not that the Grinch has been counting or anything. His calendar does it for him, is all.

"Max!"

He and his dog venture down the mountain, something they do every now and then. The Grinch hates it, of course, but his general fear and apprehension lessens with age. The longer he's lived on Mt. Crumpit, the more of a boogeyman status he's gained, and the thought pleases him greatly.

Instead of laughing at him, they've started to fear him, and it doesn't bother him. It's empowering, in a way.

But then he thinks of someone like Martha running away from him, and his heart feels strange. Not pain, he knows what that feels like, but perhaps something close to it.

Ugh, he's become such a sap in his old age.

His goal in Whoville today is to cause general havoc, as well as snatch some materials for new contraptions. Anything metal will do.

When he was younger, he used to pay for what he stole. What kindness. He doesn't do that anymore, needless to say.

He slips into the post office. The guy who runs this place used to go to school with him, that the Grinch knows, but he was much younger. Has a family now too, by the looks of it. How mundane. He slips off his mask and sighs.

As the Grinch redirects bills and boxes and such, one of the Lou Who children also makes an appearance. The teen jolts at the sight of the Grinch's face, dropping the letters in his hand, but he does not scream. That really cannot do, so the Grinch walks forward towards the boy and asks, "What's wrong?"

But the kid doesn't answer the way he expects, which is to scream or stammer or run... The typical young Who behaviors when confronted with the face of pure evil, as he likes to put it. Instead, he stays put with a look of consternation and says, "You do look just like her."

The Grinch leans back in confusion as the kid corrects himself. "I mean, she looks like you."

"Who are you?" The Grinch snaps.

"St-stu."

"Well, Stu, what is with kids these days?" He snarls, and the boy flinches. "Can't a man sabotage your father's business without your little riddles? I'm the Grinch, not some friend at the playground. Leave me be."

Stu's face grows red. It's not quite fury, and it's not quite horror, but it's definitely something in between. He goes to speak, but the Grinch isn't finished.

"And who are you even talking about? What she?" He laughs. "There's no one else like me here in Whoville. Trust me, I've checked." He's been the only one since he was delivered in that nasty pumbersella his mothers insisted on keeping, and he's never seen it when he's scoping out the trash. No doubt the old biddies have kept it somewhere to remember their son.

God, the thought makes him twitch.

"Your daughter," the kid answers dumbly. "The one who stays at my house sometimes. Who else would I mean?"

"Daughter? I have no daughter." The Grinch laughs once more. "What sort of nonsense are they teaching you down here?"

"But I've seen Olivia, and I know her mother." The boy, Stu, grows more flustered. "The Mayor says-"

"The Mayor?" The Grinch doesn't know where to begin with that one. Something uncomfortable unfurls in his chest. He suppresses the feeling with a scowl. "Get out."

Stu walks to the door numbly, but he turns last second and says, "But this is-"

"OUT!"

The kid leaves. Max looks up at his master and barks.

"I don't know, Max." He rubs at his face and tries not to think.

The dog barks again, and the Grinch's face scrunches. "I said I don't know, Max! Let it be." But the dog just gives him a look of exasperation.

"Fine!" The Grinch swaps his last two letters with a harsh movement that tears at both of the envelopes' edges. "We'll investigate. It's a great idea I just had, a stroke of genius that came outta the blue."

Max snorts, but his master ignores him, and they leave quietly once he's returned the mask to his face once more. He hates going around Whoville more than necessary besides his general antics, but just this once, the Grinch will make a very firm exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to have Stu not be a wuss, because I think being around Olivia would make him more comfortable in the presence of the Grinch. I think the fact that their encounter takes place on "home-turf" also helps as well. I decided to have Stu meet him in the post office instead of Cindy because...
> 
> Writing Cindy scares me! She's such an intelligent and nostalgic character that I cannot stand the idea of fucking it up. If that upsets you, I apologize.


	7. My mind's a mess. Does this really mean you love me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grinch is bewildered by his discovery.

Sneaking into Augustus' house is surprisingly easy for the Grinch, not that he really expected to be caught in the first place. The Maywho family have lived in that house as long as he can remember, but it's in the center of town, so he waits for night time to roll around before cutting out the glass of a window and entering at his leisure.

The first part of his operation is to make sure he doesn't get caught, so the Grinch quietly, oh so quietly, cracks open the door of what he assumes is the bedroom and peaks inside. There lays the Mayor with his hair in those ridiculous curlers, and he says in his sleep, "Martha, maybe you could sell it? And we can go on that vacation to the beach that I've always wanted."

The Grinch frowns.

He leaves the room and lets Max in through the front door. The two of them search in silence as he tries to find anything to confirm that Who kid's story, but there's nothing except an overwhelming smell of a sweet cologne, ugh. Eventually, they've gone through all of the folders and notes in the office. He's rather tired of looking at Augustus' ugly, loopy signature.

"Let's go, Max." He double checks the window glass, making sure it will fall in the night, and with that, they leave through the front door. However, as they make their way on the Whoville stairs to the closest Dumpit shoot, the Grinch can't help but look over at a house he once admired quite often.

The Whovier house. It's nothing special, but the woman inside is. Or she was, anyway. Martha May Whovier was once, genuinely, his only friend. He stops as the memories build, and Max whines. Part of the Grinch indignantly registers that perhaps Martha doesn't live there anymore, that she's married, that she's moved onto other things.

"Just... give me a minute," He mumbles without too much bite, and he goes towards the house. He won't break into this one; it's not the same. Martha's never given him reason to violate her trust like that. She didn't laugh at him like the others did. She never did.

The night is dark, and all of Whoville is quiet. He peers through a window, but all he sees is furniture and wall and nothing important at all. That is the case for all of the windows on the front of the house, but as he nears the back, there's a soft bright light that draws him in like a moth to a flame.

The Grinch curses himself for doing it, but he sneaks up to this lit window and peers through the glass. There, just a few feet from him, are eyes that match his own. His jaw drops, and his head grows dizzy.

She, with her fuzzy, green fur, points at him with one tiny, hairy finger and shouts gibberish, standing up in her crib to get a better look at him.

He points at himself and asks, "Me?"

The baby nods and giggles.

His heart slams against his chest like drums, and he winces at the pain, but he can't force himself to retreat. Instead, he's held captive by her inquisitive eyes. It's the weirdest thing he's ever seen. It's the scariest thing he's ever seen.

But not the worst thing. He doesn't know how to describe what he feels. There are no words that he feels comfortable applying. He has no reference for the growing sensation in his heart besides _feeling_.

The Grinch's face scrunches up in thought, and the child matches it excitedly, settling into an well-established pout. He chuckles and presses up against the cold glass as he forces his face into an exaggerated smile. She grins in return.

"So I guess that Stu kid had a point, huh?" He puts his hand up to the glass, and she raises her palm to his. "Figures that little Whoville guidebook would get me with this too. I just can't avoid them!"

She looks at him and chirps, "Book!" It's muffled through the glass, but her word is still surprisingly clear.

His eyes flicker around the inside of her room. It's decorated like a little garden, and the red roses on the dresser match the little bow on the girl's pajamas. Intricate... like someone had worked hard to make it all match.

Someone like Martha? He hadn't seen her when he looked through the other windows, but she might be on the upper floor of the house, and his back aches at the idea of trying to climb and find out.

He looks back at the little girl and at himself, and he thinks, if he were to have a kid with anyone in Whoville, it would have been Martha. But this whole situation screams of some theatrical performance, of a pumbersella gone wrong. His chest grows tighter as he thinks about his own arrival.

"Is it egotistical to assume you're my kid?" The Grinch frowns, and a familiar sense of sorrow fills his mind. He stills as he realizes that part of him wants her to be. He asks loudly, "what is wrong with me?"

The girl doesn't answer, seemingly enjoying the conundrum that the Grinch has found himself in. Just a few seconds later, the door in the background opens. He jolts but can't move in his panic. Frozen. Afraid. Hopeful. "Olivia?" he hears someone call.

The door fully opens to reveal a flustered Martha in a blue nightgown. The world stops, or rather, the Grinch's heart stops beating. His legs won't leave, and even his brain stalls. She's beautiful, like an angel, like the angel he made her for Christmas that ill-fated year. Martha freezes in the doorway as their eyes meet. As she opens her mouth, his mind finally catches up to what he must do and screams at his body to react.

So he runs, only barely aware of Max's barking behind him. He's feeling something he's always hated. Guilt, his thoughts ring. He's guilty! How could he just stand there like some creep? She must hate him for it, for staring through her windows, for invading her privacy.

But why didn't Martha let him know about the girl, Olivia apparently? It's almost her own fault. She forced him to find out this way, he rationalizes, but even the Grinch hates himself for thinking it.

He kicks down a trashcan as he flees, and it doesn't even make him feel any better. What a terrible night.

After he's several blocks away, the Grinch lowers himself to the ground, and he thinks. Max stares at him in confusion as he pants, and what feels like hours later, the two of them make it to the closest Dumpit station and shoot themselves up to the summit of Mt. Crumpit.

The Grinch stays awake all night. Max sleeps by his feet, clearly worried for his master. The dog hasn't let his side since they got home. The Grinch still hasn't told him what he's seen.

He never cared for all those stories that his mothers told him, but the Grinch remembers how babies work. A hermit he might be at times, but he's no idiot. His mothers loved to bring up his pumbersella arrival, even if he didn't usually indulge them with his attention.

They were good at pretending otherwise, but he just knows that his general being must have bothered them. They may have dressed him and fed him and loved him, but he was not theirs. Not really. Not in the way that the Book of Who described, anyway.

Which is why he's so puzzled now. He and Martha, they haven't seen each other in years. Well, not really anyway. He's looked for her sometimes, when he went down to Whoville and hid in the crowd. He's never approached her. Frankly, he was too afraid. Since they were children, she's always caught his eye. The sight of her twists his tongue and makes him into a fool. The Grinch can't help it. He'd be lying if he said he didn't like her, and while he might be an alright liar, he doesn't enjoy it as much when his target's himself. And Martha? He would never lie about Martha. Especially now. Now, with a kid.

But even if he loves her, he doesn't understand how she can love him, too. Not in the way the pumbersella demands... But he knows what he saw, and that little girl is big enough proof that Martha must love him somewhat, even if it doesn't make sense to him now.

The Grinch sighs, and he holds a hand over his chest from the pain. It hasn't stopped slamming in his chest since he looked through the window, and it might be getting worse. He grumbles.

He'll go back down to Whoville tomorrow. He'll rewritten his schedule just for the occasion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kicked my ass and a half. I still don't like it, but I hope you enjoy it.


	8. What is there to be said besides everything I have never said?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martha is confused and frustrated, and her day is not much help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that apparently the Grinch's moms are named Rosa and Clarnella?
> 
> Me neither. I'm just gonna roll with what I had.

It surprisingly doesn't take long for Olivia to fall asleep, despite her initial cries after the Grinch absconded.

As for herself, Martha doesn't sleep well that night, but she eventually does, dreaming of the Grinch holding Olivia before dropping her off in her pumbersella at the Whovier door. She hates this dream, but ever since hearing that disgusting rumor that's been going around town, it's been repeating in her head like a mantra.

She hates it so much. It makes her feel like a bad person if even the smallest part of her would entertain such a nonsensical theory. And yet, _he knew_ -

No. She roughly passes her brush through her hair and winces when it tugs on a knot. The Grinch is many things, handsome for one example, but he is not cruel. It must be something else. It has to be anything else. After all, he wouldn't have come back if he had the heart to do such a thing in the first place.

God, she feels sick. Whoever started that rumor is the cruelest person that Martha can imagine.

With her morning routine complete after fixing her makeup, Martha goes into the nursery, somewhat expecting to see him again, but he isn't there. Her daughter is awake and happy to see her. Martha decidedly doesn't look at the window above Olivia's head.

"Livvy," Martha coos, "Do you wanna see your grandmas?"

The baby's eyes scrunch up as she considers the question, and she finally answers with a hesitant, "Okay."

"Okay." Martha can work with that, so they leave. She drops the baby off into Charlene's welcoming arms, but she doesn't stay. Sara isn't home, having gone out to the store an hour prior apparently, and Martha feels like this news would be better told over drinks, so she doesn't say anything at all regarding her night.

She goes to work later, helping a woman plan a celebration for her husband's birthday. "Congratulations," Martha says, and they decide on a lovely Whoberry cake that she'll have to order by tomorrow. "Being married must feel amazing."

The woman, Claire Sue Who, looks at her warmly. "It is. I hope this doesn't sound strange, but I hope that you get married too, one day. You would wear the prettiest dress. I'd love to see it."

Martha smiles, but her heart isn't in it. "That's sweet of you to say, Claire."

And on and on... Martha ends her day after a disastrous meeting with a woman who simply cannot accept that she has to pay for services rendered, and honestly, Martha is tempted to eat the cost just so she never has to see this woman's face ever again. "Ms. Whoholm, I'll be late for picking up my daughter. Can we continue this conversation at a later date?"

Julia Whoholm practically kicks her out of her house, which is immaculate, something that Martha hates to admit but can't really deny.

But, she doesn't go straight to Sara and Charlene's. It's too nerve wracking, so she stumbles home and lays on the couch for a bit, frustrated and confused. She's not sure if she's in the right frame of mind to climb Crumpit, but she's tempted to go right now and see why he was by the window.

He's welcome inside her house. He doesn't have to loiter outside like a vampire. But, as she reminds herself, maybe he doesn't know that. Maybe he doesn't know a lot of things about their situation now.

Because, before Olivia, they didn't have a situation. Not really. They didn't have anything but a broken history, one that was disfigured too badly for her comfort.

She looks at the clock and sighs. It's long past time to pick up her daughter. Martha makes her way down there, ready to apologize, but Sara's already outside sitting outside with Olivia on her lap. "There you are," Sara says happily. "Charlene's already asleep, so I figured the two of us would wait outside with the fresh air."

There goes Martha's plans of talking it out with them tonight. She smiles anyway. "Thank you."

The old woman considers her for a moment. "Rough day?"

Martha laughs. "I am never taking on the Whoholms as clients again."

Sara puts the half-asleep Olivia in her stroller before pulling Martha into a tight hug. "You get some rest, dear. It's worrying to see you so frazzled."

She nods and takes her daughter home. Martha gives her bath then brushes out her soft, green hair. With all of that done, she puts Olivia to bed and looks out the window of the nursery, and when she doesn't see the Grinch, she can feel her face grow hot. She leaves the room quietly, stepping into her kitchen for a snack, and the doorbell rings.

And filled with hope, Martha has to keep herself from running to the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to be posted very soon after this one, I promise! Don't hate me for the cliffhanger if you manage to catch this in between updates.


	9. You aren't just as I remember, but I love you all the same.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grinch and Martha speak to each other after too many years.

Frankly, the Grinch doesn't know what to expect out of this, but he knows this is a problem he doesn't want to run from.

Which is the oddest thing he's thought in quite some time. He's never wanted to face his problems, but whatever, he'll go with it, for now. He chooses his nicest outfit, which really isn't that nice, and grooms himself a bit for the occasion, like his mothers used to have him do. If he were to describe himself in this moment, the Grinch would hesitantly label himself as presentable. It's a description that part of him takes offense to, but he figures that Martha would appreciate him more like this, and really that's all that matters.

He and Max set down the mountain. The Grinch himself walks with a pace more hurried than not. It's the first time he's ever ran down the mountain rather than up.

Whoville at dusk time is a complicated time for him. People are awake, but there's not enough Whos on the street for him to disappear in a crowd. He's wearing a cloak he washed just for this purpose, one nicer than his normal brown attire, a black, silky cloak that someone just threw away through their nearest local Dumpit.

A slight shame for whoever tossed it. The wrapping had come with a love letter, missed and forgotten. The Grinch himself read it, and the writing was mediocre at best. Vanessa could do better, in his opinion.

So now it's his, and he'll use it with his mask to hide from any passing glances. And it works, a bit. As he passes through town on his way to Martha's house, a little Who passes him and catches sight of his bare hands. The Grinch groans as she hurries on two small legs to match his pace, and she asks him quite seriously, "Are you the Grinch?"

"No," he gripes back. "I'm Santa Claus."

"No, Santa Claus wears red, but you're wearing black." The girl looks up at him. "Are you going to see Olivia?"

The Grinch looks down at her, a slight sneer on his face. "Why? You a little friend? Aren't you a bit old to hang out with babies?" He rolls his eyes. It's not his greatest insult. "What's your name, kid?"

"I'm Cindy." She looks back at a man fiddling with boxes, a man he recognizes as Lou Lou Who. Great, this is Stu's sister. Lou really knows how to raise them, huh? "Martha's been my neighbor forever. Olivia stays at our houses sometimes."

The Grinch ponders this for a moment. "Cindy," he says slowly. "Go home so I can talk to Martha in peace without your yapping."

The little Who opens her mouth and grasps his hand, but he pulls it away and says, "Scram, kid. It's getting late anyway." And she does, leaving him with a cheery goodbye. Children are weird creatures, but at least they follow orders.

He exhales as he reaches the house and stands in front of the door. He raises his hand to knock, but Max beats him to it, getting on his hind legs and whacking the doorbell. What an impatient dog. The Grinch groans and nudges him to the side. He doesn't want any interruptions.

The door flies open quickly, Martha's flushed face meeting his, and he can feel himself tense. She wears a green coat this night, one that he proudly notes is a close match for his hair color. Now that he's here and struck by her sheer beauty, everything he prepared seems inadequate. "Hi Martha," he says to start.

"Hello," she murmurs in response, dazed. "Would you like to come in?"

He both does and doesn't simultaneously, but he replies, "Sure," just to avoid chickening out of this whole affair altogether. He walks in and doesn't take a seat on the coach, hovering in wait for her to give him some sort of clue how to act. However, Martha waits by the door and invites Max in. "What a good boy," she says softly as the dog comes in. "What's his name?"

"Max."

"Have you had him long?" She passes him, and his mind blanks as her being floods his senses. Her arm brushes against his own, leaving a slight tingly feeling that lingers, and her perfume is heavenly. Without much thought, he leans in towards where she was and frowns as the scent leaves with her. Max happily trots behind her, and the two of them settle on the couch, his dog taking up residency on her lap.

"Since he was a puppy." The Grinch coughs and scratches at his neck. There's other seating, but he joins them on the couch. Regardless of how this goes, he enjoys the excuse to sit next to her, albeit a few feet down. "I found him at a dump, and he followed me home. Stubborn little jerk."

Martha hesitantly smiles, but Max looks like he's never had a better day.

The two of them sit in silence for a moment after, both of them unable to look at the other, and he curses himself. He had a whole speech written out, but here, in the moment...

"Your mothers love Olivia," Martha whispers. "She's wonderful."

The Grinch's face whips to hers, his eyes widening comically. "You told them?"

Martha frowns. "Who else would I tell? They're her family."

He grimaces. "You didn't tell me. I might live on Crumpit, but I'm not dead, you know." He forces a grin to his face and gestures to himself aimlessly. "Ghoulish as I can be."

Her face falls, eyes looking dejectedly at her hands as she mindlessly pets Max. "I was going to tell you." She sighs. "I was going to climb Mt. Crumpit just to do so, once I felt more comfortable about leaving Olivia alone for that long. I've never climbed the mountain before, so I thought it might take some time."

His heart clenches, and he shuffles a bit on the couch, increasingly uncomfortable. "The old biddies would have kept her overnight," he mumbles. "They love an excuse to have a sleepover."

"I'll have to keep that in mind." The silence returns, blanketing them, and Max hops of her lap. He waddles off somewhere, and Martha goes still. "I'm sorry."

And with that, the Grinch freezes too. "You don't have to be sorry," he says grimly. "I'm sorry for how I found out."

She looks at him with a tight look of apprehension on her face. "How did you find out?"

He deflates under her expression, and a large part of him screams that she clearly doesn't want him here if she's so upset he knows about Olivia. But, he recovers and puffs out his chest. "Well, I came down for some errands, rather mundane stuff if I must say, and someone was talking about my daughter." His brows knit together, and he says roughly, "I didn't think I had a daughter, so I hung around Whoville to see what the big deal was. And I saw the light from her window, and," He cuts himself off and looks at her with a tired, _bewildered_ look. "Then I knew. That I have a daughter. There's no denying it. We have a daughter?"

Martha bites her lip and turns away, hiding her face. "Yeah," she chuckles. "We have a daughter."

The Grinch stands and claps his hands together. "So, where is she?"

She blinks. "I'm sorry?"

He rubs his palms together anxiously and asks weakly, "Olivia? I want to see her."

Martha stands to join him and shakily laughs as she offers him her hand. He judges this with a growing sense of victory, and the Grinch takes her hand in his with solemn gentleness. "Well, lead the way," he mumbles.

Her eyes soften, and the Grinch feels surprisingly satisfied as she lightly tugs him forward, their fingers interlaced. They make their way down the hall slowly and quietly, and he takes a deep breath as she opens the last door on the left.

The Grinch's heart gallops as Martha's eyes meet his again. Whatever she sees in him, she apparently likes it because she smiles brightly. He has never wanted to kiss her more than he does now, with her soft fingers against his and the dim light on her face marking the alluring shape of her mouth. He leans in, blood rushing to his cheeks, but she's already turning from him, and the moment is lost.

Then, as he mentally grumbles, the two make their way inside the nursery. If Martha has noticed his emotional slip, she has decided not to speak on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You bitches really think I'mma leave you with a cliffhanger and give you Augustus?
> 
> Nah.


	10. Please don't let me go.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grinch and Martha discuss what to do now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!

Martha lets go of him, and the Grinch sighs, mustering up his courage and slinking forward. Walking up to the crib is unbearable. His heartbeat is blaring like an alarm in his ears, and he can't help but feel the rapid movement of the termites in his stomach. But then he remembers how happy the baby, his baby, had been to see him through the window, and...

How confusingly happy he had been too.

Despite the two intruders in her room, Olivia is sleeping soundly with one little thumb securely in her maw. She's wearing a decorative onesie, one that he suspiciously finds familiar. If he wasn't so preoccupied, he would ask Martha when his mothers decided to give her his least favorite childhood Christmas pajamas. Her face is relaxed, no nightmares under Martha's attentive care, and the child's hair is a striking shade of green. He ponders it for a second, the deeper hue of green bordering on brown.

A memory from his childhood takes over of sitting next to Martha and looking at her hair, how it had straddled the line between blonde and brunette. The Grinch had thought it was beautiful. He had thought she was beautiful.

Ah, but he still thinks that, he admits begrudgingly.

A thought takes hold of him, and he ponders it for quite some time, lightly worrying a finger between his teeth. Eventually, curiosity wins out, and he reaches out. His large hand gently brushes over the finer fur of his daughter, and he gasps as her little hand grips at his palm. Olivia lets out a little snort in her sleep, and his heart grows heavy.

He's never felt like this before, whatever this is. Not even for Martha. It's completely new, and he hates to say it, but he likes this. Even if it scares him.

And it does. It does scare him. It scares him that he's now bound to Whoville in such a way. It scares him that this girl will have to learn to live as a What in a town of Whos, and it scares him that one day she will face what he had experienced, too.

He stops looking at her because it starts to hurt, not in his chest but his whole being. The Grinch turns back. There in the doorway is Martha with her hands over her mouth and a barely noticeable shine of tears in her eyes.

The Grinch's eyes don't leave hers for some time, but he moves forward when he finally sees tears leave her eyes. He doesn't know what to do, so he hovers his hands by her shoulders and clears his throat. "Maybe, we should, um, talk?" he asks quietly. "Away from the kid?"

Martha doesn't move, and he blinks. She lightly rubs at her eyes and nods. "Okay," she says softly. "Would you like coffee?"

He shakes his head, yet, they still don't move. The Grinch frowns and takes the initiative, firmly planting his hands on her shoulders. He doesn't break his stare even though he's tempted to at the sight of her watery eyes. "What is it?" His voice is low and rough, but it shakes slightly as he asks, "Are you upset with me?"

"No," she whispers harshly, dropping her hands to her sides. "I just-"

His face grows somber, and his brow furrows. "You have regrets?"

Martha looks at him strangely, and he can't help but feel lost. "Not about this," she answers firmly. "I could never regret this."

Oh. His jaw drops a little as he processes that, and Martha continues, "This has gone far better than I ever imagined." Her face is red now, and her cheeks are wet. Even now, he wants to kiss her. The Grinch lets out a broken, weak groan from his throat, and her eyes flash with something at the sound.

"Martha," He says, but it really does feel like a question at this point because she's pulling him forward by his wrists, and he's not stopping her. He lets her lead, his body surging with heat, and once they're through the doorway, he slowly kicks it closed behind him. " _Martha_."

Her hands move up his arms to his upper back, tangling in his cloak, and he presses her against the wall, resting his forehead against hers. He clumsily rests his hands on her hips. They chuckle and look at each other like they had when they were children. Deep, longing looks that make their heads dizzy. Her nose brushes against his.

"I've missed you," she says. Her eyes are wide. "I've missed you a lot."

"Yeah, well," He shuffles his feet. "I've thought about you too, sometimes." He doesn't want to admit the extent of his thoughts, about how he would find beautiful things on Mt. Crumpit and always think of her smile. How he never attempted to make anything beautiful again, after the angel. How Martha had influenced his designs so thoroughly it was if they had never parted. A muse, his muse.

Martha's face drops. The Grinch thinks he would have missed it if they weren't so close. He tries again. His voice is gravelly as he says, "You're the only one in Whoville I think about. Positively, that is."

"Not even your mothers?"

He winces and admits, "Not even them. Not really." His eyes flicker to her mouth for just a second. "It's just not the same."

Martha lets out a small gasp, and he shivers. "Would we be doing this if it weren't for Olivia?"

But what were they doing? "Probably not," he drawls. "I rather hate coming down here. To Whoville." His lip twitches. "But not this time. You have a nice home."

"Oh, it's the same it's always been, more or less." Her tone is nervous. It makes him feel better. "Grinch, I-"

"Yes?" He savors how good his name feels from her mouth. The Grinch can't take his eyes off her, but she looks at him warily, like he might leave at any moment.

"Will I see you again? Now that you know?"

He stops. His eyes hopelessly pass between hers. He doesn't know how to answer that question. "Do you want to?"

"No," she whispers. "I want you to stay." His face falls. "But I don't think it's fair of me to ask for that."

"I can't stay," he says, and it feels like pleading. "You know what it's like for me down here, you saw-"

"So what do we do? I want you in Olivia's life." Martha laughs, but there's no joy in it. "I want you in my life."

Her words steal the breath from his lungs, and he stills, a flood of warmth running through his body. "You do?" His words are worshipful. If she stops now, the Grinch thinks his heart might slam out of his chest and force her to keep going.

"When I think about you, I think about what could have happened if you had stayed. If you had stayed down here, with me." His face goes blank, but she continues with a slight hint of panic in her voice, "I love you." She raises her hands to her mouth as if trying to dam her emotions back up. "I've always loved you."

And despite having the evidence to her claim behind him, the Grinch's mouth pops open slightly, and he nervously laughs as the truth hits him. "You love me?" He pulls a hand from her hips and points at himself. "Me? You love me? You've always loved me?"

She nods silently, and the tears come back full force. "I cried so hard when you didn't come back," she chokes out. "I would have given anything to have you sit down next to me in school again, to have you walk me home again. I missed you so much."

He's tempted to jump and dance and scream, but his chest hurts so much. He exhales shakily as he lifts her hands from her face. The Grinch replaces them with his own, brushing her cheek with his finger. Martha leans into his touch, her palms against his wrists, and it hurts him so good. The beat of his heart pulses under his skin, and he can feel its drumming in his very soul. It's too good to be true.

It's far too good to be true, but he'll enjoy it while it lasts.

"I'll come back down again, if you stop crying," he murmurs. "I don't want you to be sad when I leave."

"I don't think that's possible," she says, a slight hint of teasing in her voice despite her tears. "I think I might always be sad when you go."

The Grinch shakes his head desperately. "I don't want you to cry when I do this."

Her face twists in confusion. "What do you mean?" But it's just as she's finished her sentence that he's lost control of all his inhibitions and doubts. Martha gasps as he kisses her wildly, his hands hot against her cheeks. It's frantic, with little care for the world around them. For the baby behind them. For Max. For anyone but him and her. 

His heart roars as she kisses him back, her hands drifting up his arms and coming to his hair. She tugs roughly, and he purrs, nipping at her lower lip in return. The Grinch licks the inside of her mouth and growls at the taste. He starts to savor his time, more confident in his affections, letting his motions grow gentle, adoring.

This is real, he thinks deliriously.

Martha breaks away first to catch her breath, and she stares at him with wide-open eyes. He feels so satisfied at the sight.

She doesn't look at all close to tears now.

He remembers himself, clearing his throat and letting go of her wordlessly. He turns his head to look down the hall, slightly annoyed to see Max peaking around the corner that leads into her kitchen. "I should go."

Martha doesn't say anything, but her hands drop from his head, brushing lightly against his chest.

The Grinch looks at her. "I'll be back," he says. A promise.

She nods.

He swallows as he turns from her. "Max," he calls quietly. "Let's go." So they make to leave, Martha following behind him silently. She pets Max when they reach the door and tells him he's a good dog.

The Grinch looks at her, and she looks at him, and they say nothing more. He and his dog leave for the local Dumpit, and Martha closes the door. She presses her head against the wood, and she closes her eyes as she thinks.

Then, still pondering, she finally gets ready for bed. Tomorrow is already calling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to get a chapter out for Christmas Eve, but that didn't happen. Family and friends came first. I hope you take this really long chapter as my apology.


	11. It'll be a date.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grinch conspires with Cindy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all were so cute with your comments for last chapter <3

It's a few days later when Martha sees the Grinch again. It's nerve-wracking, not knowing when she would see him again.

Cindy Lou Who is over at her house because Betty and Lou were going out on a date. It felt good to return the favor by watching their child after all Betty had done for Martha, but it didn't stop her from making sure her Christmas lights were the best in town. Sorry, Betty. There's always next year.

Cindy loves to talk about Olivia, and now she loves to talk about the Grinch, too. She tells Martha all about how she bumped into him the other day, how he had mentioned Martha by name.

And the youngest Lou Who might still be a child, but she looks up at Martha with knowing eyes, as if the world of adulthood was already hers. It is somewhat embarrassing that Cindy can read the situation so well. Martha is an open book. She always has been.

"Can I go outside and watch for my parents?" Cindy asks, standing by Olivia's highchair. The baby giggles and tugs at the older girl's hair, so Martha pulls her tiny hands away gently.

"Okay Cindy, I'll be right out to join you."

"Okay." And with that, the girl leaves, and Martha takes Olivia to her room, setting her down for bed. The baby looks out the window, and it breaks her mother's heart. "Not tonight, sweetie. I don't think you'll see him tonight." And with that, she presses a firm kiss on Olivia's forehead. "I'll be back once Cindy's mommy and daddy come."

Martha goes down the hall and out her front door and-

The Grinch is hunched over in front of her house, talking to Cindy Lou with a serious look on his face. It grows into a childish grin as the girl whispers something to him. He leans back and says, "Fine. But I won't like it!"

Cindy looks over at Martha, hopelessly alone on her front step, and she waves. The Grinch follows her movement with his eyes, and he stills at the sight of Martha, as if rooted to the ground.

Martha can feel herself blushing, but she brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, and she says, "Why don't you go inside while I wait with Cindy? It's getting late."

His eyebrows raise, but moves anyway. Their shoulders brush together as he passes into her house, and Martha can't help but laugh when she realizes that Max is not far behind, having been hidden by his master's cloak. "What a good boy," She praises, and she can hear the Grinch grumble something from inside the foyer.

"Martha? I think I see them!" Cindy excitedly points down the road and runs at them, talking a mile a minute.

Betty and Lou wave at Martha, clearly quite tired, and she can relate. She waves back and promptly retires to her house once she sees Lou take Cindy in hand. As she locks the door behind her, it occurs to her that now everyone will know. About her and the Grinch.

Augustus hasn't come by, but he's been understandably very distant now since their public showdown. They caught sight of each other in town today, and he had scowled. Whobris, always the sidekick, hadn't looked at her. She was being shunned.

Jerks, the lot of them.

She sighs and jolts as she remembers why the Grinch is here in the first place. She pads down the hall, nervously brushing nonexistent lint from her dress.

When he had come by four nights ago, it had led to such a whirlwind of emotion that she still isn't sure how to think of it. How to consider it. How to label it.

How to label them. She wants, oh she wants, so desperately for him to stay. If not stay, then permanently establish a routine. She should have pressed him on it last time.

The memory of that kiss will never leave her, she thinks, not even when she's old and grey. Her lips burn at the thought of it. A part of her feels foolish when she considers it. She had showed her whole hand to him, and now he holds a full deck of cards. Her hopes, her thoughts, her dreams.

But he's here now. She tries to focus on that, at least.

When she walks into the nursery, her heart soars at the sight of them. Olivia is held quite safely in the Grinch's arms. His face is scrunched up as if faced with a ridiculous math problem, but he lets the baby lightly tug at his chest hair regardless. He makes eye contact with Martha, and his lips twitch. Olivia happily babbles something, looking up at him with adoration, and Max sits contently under the crib.

"She likes you," Martha marvels. "She might even like you more than me."

Max barks. She takes it as affirmation, but the Grinch shakes his head. "No, not me. No one would."

"That's not true." She moves forward and swoops to plant a smooch on her daughter's head. Martha's hair skims his chest, and he grows quiet. She looks up at him, and she knows her face must reflect her love because his eyes soften just a tad. "She's asked about you too." Martha steps back, but he steps forward.

"She has?" he asks, trying to seem less interested than he is. Martha smiles. She can still tell when he's pretending, like when they were kids.

"Don't worry. Sara and Charlene have shown her plenty of photos and told her plenty of stories by now." She leaves out the fact that he's always referred to as 'Livvy's Daddy.' Martha will let him find that out for himself.

The Grinch scowls as their daughter pulls his hair tight. "They always had to brag," he says grumpily. "About their perfect son."

"They love you."

"Right." He looks off at the dresser by the door. "Love."

Martha frowns when she says, "I haven't told them that you came by. I was hoping you could come with me to see them sometime."

Olivia laughs. "Nooooooo," she whines.

The Grinch grins. "I agree with the kid," he says proudly. "I don't think it's any of their business."

Martha's face grows stony, and she can tell it unnerves him because his eyes grow wide. He pulls away from her slowly and puts Olivia in her crib despite the baby's protests. The two of them leave the nursery, and she pointedly walks them down the hall to her kitchen, far from where they had gotten distracted in the hall last time.

She flicks the light switch on and turns to look at him. He's scrunched down, arms crossed in front of him as if he's lost some game. "I don't want to see them," he says decidedly. "I've already made plans."

Her heart breaks for the two women, her pseudo-mothers. "I don't know if that's good enough for me," she says simply and tries to ignore how her chest clenches at the sight of his crestfallen face. "Grinch, I have to know when you're coming and going, and I want my daughter to have stability." She leans against her counter. "That means I can't lie to her grandmothers."

"It's not lying," he lies. "You're just not painting the whole picture."

"I will not lie." She bites her lip and asks, "Have I ever lied to you?"

His silence is very telling. Eventually, he says, "I don't know."

"The answer is no, Grinch." She sighs. "I have never lied to you, not once. Not when we were kids, and not now."

He looks at her as if she's speaking a foreign language. Her lip quivers, but Martha continues anyway. "You are Livvy's family, and they are Livvy's family, and they are your family." Her tone softens. "I know you haven't seen them since you left, but they miss you. They would be so happy to see you."

He drums his fingers on his arm and groans. "Alright, fine, I'll tell you. I will be seeing them, soon."

What? 

"What?"

The Grinch makes a face. "The Christmas Celebration... Cindy has formally invited me."

"She has?" Martha asks, amazed by this development. "And you're going? You've never come to any of the others."

He looks at her pointedly, so she clears her throat and tries again. "That makes me happy," she says tenderly. "It really does."

"Yeah, I-" He scowls, but it slips from his face quickly. He's looking at her like she's an enigma, and it makes her uncomfortable, heat rising to her cheeks. The Grinch doesn't say anything, but she imagines him saying, _I love you_.

It disappoints her when he doesn't. It really does. "I came earlier, this time." He scratches the back of his neck. "I was thinking I could come every third night? The Christmas Celebration falls within that schedule." He mumbles, "If that works for you."

"That does." It really does. "I look forward to it."

His eyes twinkle with mischief. "As will I." He grins, moving towards her, and pins a firm kiss to the side of her mouth.

Her head spins. "Goodnight Grinch."

"Hm?" He looks her deep in the eyes, and she wonders if he's satisfied with what he sees. "Ah, goodnight," he replies dumbly, swiftly pulling away and whisking himself down the hall to grab Max.

Martha exhales shakily, pressing her palm against her chest. When the Grinch peeks into the kitchen without a word, she nods and sees him out. He's slow to the door. As she opens it for them, he brushes his thumb against her wrist. She shivers, and he laughs. The Grinch leaves, Max dutifully following along aside him. She sighs and goes to check on her daughter.

The Christmas Celebration is in six days. Martha purses her lips.

She'll have to dress extra special this year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're coming to a close, me thinks.


	12. We all make compromises sometimes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grinch and Martha meet for the last time before the Christmas Celebration.

When the Grinch comes back down three days before the Christmas Celebration, he is alone. Max had wanted to nap despite the dog's clear affection for Martha. "Traitor," mumbled the Grinch as he had left. "A truly inconsiderate beast!"

The walk down the mountain is brisk, snow prickling through the soft soles of his shoes, but his mind is elsewhere. A fantasy. Martha sits on his bed in the cave, and their daughter sits on her mother's lap as they all enjoy the quiet of the mountain. The Grinch would be standing, telling Martha something that would be important, and pleased just at the sight of her smile. And Max would be there, of course. He would sit on the ground by his master's feet, head lazily on his paws.

It is a foolish fancy, one he doesn't believe will happen any time soon, evident from his last conversation with Martha. She wants him to open himself up to Whoville again, so she won't have to shuttle their daughter between homes.

And by himself, even he can agree that the idea of their daughter making that journey would be unsettling. The mountain is no place for a child, even his child. Martha has a valid point.

And as he walks, the Grinch grows even more accepting of the fact that he would never be able to give this up. It's a part of him now like the fur on his body, like the summit of Mt. Crumpit where he's made his home, and like the formulative memories that haunt him in his weakest moments. One day, when Martha has realized her mistake and isn't bound to him by a baby, he will be left with yet another memory to remember. To obsess over. To cry over.

He scowls, exasperated at himself. "When did I become such a sap?" His voice rings in the silence, his only audience the animals that called the trees home. "And for a Who, no less?"

It's something that would have been distinctly unacceptable for him before he caught his first glimpse of Olivia. She had been so curious, so trusting of the mysterious man outside her window. That must be her mother's influence. Martha had always brightened his day and made him feel welcome. This proves true even now, as he treks into town to knock on her door.

Nice, nonjudgmental, calming.

But then he thinks of how he felt whenever she looked at him from her desk at school, how he felt from underneath his mask when her saw glimpses of her in town, and how he felt holding her against the wall when they had kissed, and he considers that maybe calming is not the right term for what she does to him.

He clears his throat at the thought and continues on his way into town. The break between the mountain and Whoville is always the hardest part; any Who with half a mind would question why someone would be coming down Mt. Crumpit in the beginning of winter. There's nothing to catch up there, after all. Nothing but a Grinch.

And he is the Grinch, so they would be correct in the assumption.

He passes by various Whos, all more urgent than the last. Many carry bags full of presents, some boxes, others letters. Christmas, he notes with disgust. It makes the lot of them into rapid creatures, consumed by their materialism, and now he is to be one of them by partaking in the stupid party.

He hates that he agreed to it. When Cindy Lou had asked him and he said yes, it was just a lie to get her to shut up.

Then Martha had pressed him on seeing his mothers, and he had panicked, jumping to the first thing to come to his mind just to stay in her good graces. The Christmas Celebration. Ugh.

But she had looked so happy, so he thought he could kiss her again, and he did, and she-

She hadn't seemed completely happy then, but she had spoke to him softly and reacted to his touch as he left. He hesitates to call that a win. Was that disgust? A Who having tried something once just to abandon it once it failed to be all they imagined?

But his pride flares at that one, reminding him quite firmly how she had once sighed against his mouth. He refuses to believe that she would reject his touch now, not after what they had shared.

But he had been proven wrong before with a lot of things. His chest spasms, and his walking slows. This can't be one of them, he thinks achingly. The Grinch isn't sure his heart could take it.

He reaches the Whovier house without a word, uncharacteristically quiet even without Max's company, and he knocks.

Martha answers the door after a minute, and his heart plummets from his throat to his stomach at the sight of her. She's wearing a bathrobe, hair wet, and she pulls the blue cotton close to her skin. "I just got out of the shower," She says quickly. "Come in, and I'll get ready, okay?"

Still astounded, the Grinch says nothing for a moment before answering quite dumbly, "Okay."

"Perfect," She says, and he must agree, she is _perfect._ He goes to make his way down the hallway as she locks the door, but Martha's head swivels to him in tired panic. "I just managed to get Olivia to sleep. She's been sick with a cold and needs her rest."

"Alright." He waits for her in the kitchen, too nervous to sit on the couch in the living room. It's too close to the exit, and he wants to extend his time here as much as possible. A rare consideration, he thinks. His eye catches sight of a red and white set of porcelain in the cabinet closest to the dining room table. The Grinch's mouth waters. How he loves ceramic.

But as he steps towards the glass, his face settles into a strong grimace. He can't give into something like this. "Don't be so stupid," he tells himself.

Martha joins him just a few minutes later. She's painted some light makeup on her face, her lips a deep scarlet he's confident he wants to see smudged, and her bathrobe has been replaced with a white, layered nightgown. "You look nice."

She smiles. "Thank you."

He nods.

"I've picked out some ideas for Saturday," Martha says as she washes some plastic cutlery he assumes must be Olivia's. "I was hoping we could wear something matching, just for fun, of course." She looks up at him from across the island. "If you wouldn't mind."

Part of him is relieved. He hates the idea of having to worry about both his fur and clothes. The Grinch would wear whatever she asked of him if it made her smile at him. "I will consider your suggestions," He says, lifting a hand to his chest. "If you so insist."

Her eyes twinkle. "I do."

She retreats into her bedroom and comes back with a small basket packed with men's clothes. "I wasn't sure of your size," Martha says with a blush, looking everywhere but at him. "I tried to get things you might like."

The Grinch takes the basket from her, and his skin tingles as their fingers rub against each other. "Where should I..." He drifts off, entranced by the red in her cheeks. "Um."

"The bathroom," she squeaks, pointing out into the hall. "It's the door right across."

He can't help but chuckle with pleasure as he leaves. The Grinch ponders each outfit before settling on one with embroidered pants and a stiff reddish jacket over a brown waistcoat and white dress shirt. It looks nice. He fiddles with the delicate pink silk of the tie.

Martha had really gone all out. His lips twitch as he considers the price. He refuses to ask. The answer would just disgruntle him.

He gets back in his original clothes and separates his chosen clothes from the rest, placing them on top of the pile. She's waiting for him outside the door when he comes out, her fingers playing with a seam in her sleeve. "Did you find something you like?"

He grins and leans forward just slightly. "Yes."

Her eyes grow wide. "Oh," she says distractedly.

The Grinch places the basket on the dresser she has by the guest bathroom and pulls out his selection. "These fit well," he boasts. "They'll do."

Martha's face flickers to a thoughtful expression, and she nods. "I think so too." She smiles. "You can take those then, for Saturday."

"For Saturday," he repeats.

"I was thinking we could meet here and go to the celebration together. Would six work for you? I need time to make sure Livvy's ready."

He mentally notes that this time removes his jazzercise for the day, but it's a sacrifice he's already agreed to. "That sounds fine. I can be here at six." He fidgets with his fingers for a second. "Will we be seeing my mothers before or during the celebration?"

Martha blinks. "I hadn't figured that part out yet," she admits quietly. "I was going to leave that up to you."

"Well, we may as well do it all at once," He says bitterly.

"Sorry," she says.

His eyes jolt to hers. "Don't be," he says and frowns. "I agreed to it."

"Yeah." 

They look at each other, locked in place by the other's eyes, and he asks, "Will this really make you happy?"

She nods. "It's something I've thought of before."

"Alright," The Grinch says roughly. His chest hurts so bad, and it takes a lot out of him to resist running from it all. The next sentence hurts him dearly: "Then I'll definitely be here on time."

Martha smiles. "I had never really doubted that, Grinch."

He can feel something in his chest cavity shift at the sound of her saying his name, and he struggles not to openly wince.

A strange emotion covers her face, and she asks, "Are you alright?"

No, he thinks. "Yes," he says. "I'm just a bit tired. I think I might want to head home."

But neither of them move. He looks at her, and she looks at him, and they go nowhere. That is until she finally plants a small kiss on his cheek and says, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Martha," he answers and leaves without another word, his clothes clutched tight in his hands. He walks up the mountain despite the darkening sky and night wind through his fur. A small, egotistical part of him refuses to just use the Dumpit, worried that this gift from Martha would be ruined somehow from the experience.

And when he gets home, he drops them off on an empty workbench and holds his head in his hands as he thinks. The Grinch thinks, thinks, thinks of any way to get out of what he's done without hurting Martha, and again, he comes out short.

Max barks at him with a hint of amusement, so the Grinch snarls, "This isn't funny." But the dog just looks at him pointedly, and he doesn't understand why until he's looking in the mirror before crawling into bed.

There's a small, faint kissmark right there on his cheek. Red on green. Like Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait. I've had a lot of family stuff pop up recently, and it's taken a lot out of me.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! It was originally supposed to be about the Christmas Celebration, but my planning notes sort of got thrown out the window when I decided I wanted one last pre-party discussion.


	13. You've deluded yourself.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martha puts something to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey babes, I got a lot of stuff lined out and already written. I apologize wholeheartedly for the wait.

Martha has never prepared so much for a Christmas Celebration before. After she decorates the inside of her house, she turns her attention to getting Grinch a nice outfit. Part of it is her own wishes to see Olivia and him match, but most of it is because she knew the power of looking nice.

When she puts on makeup or wears a nice dress, she feels more powerful. This has always been the case, even when she was a little girl and didn't have a firm grasp on how others saw her. It made her feel like she could face the world, and she desperately wants him to feel that way too. If he can feel more confident like she does, perhaps it would help him deal with the stress of seeing everyone again. His mothers, his former neighbors, strangers.

Old bullies.

And if he happens to look handsome in the clothes she specially bought to see him in, that's just a plus for Martha, hm?

And when she lets him pick out clothes, he actually finds one he likes, and her heart soars. She immediately pivots to finding a matching outfit for Olivia, which isn't hard. Martha finds the perfect accessory for the occasion, one her mother had placed in her hair so long ago for a previous Celebration, and she lets out a low hum as she judges the holly hairpiece against Olivia's soft fur.

She looks as cute as a button. Sara and Charlene will love it.

After she finalizes everything with the Grinch and Olivia, Martha focuses on her own appearance. It is a first time in quite some time that she has waited so last minute to have everything prepared. In comparison to previous years, she is practically slacking, but she knows her new motherly duties have been the cause of such an upset in her status quo.

Not that she would change a damn thing about it, anyway. The night before Christmas Eve, Martha sits with her daughter in their rocking chair and gives her gentle kisses on the forehead. They read several books together, and Livvy looks over at the window several times. They both do.

She can't help but share her daughter's disappointment even though the rational part of her brain reminds her that the Grinch knows perfectly well how to knock on her front door.

"He's coming tomorrow, dear." Her daughter looks at her with an excited grin, and Martha smiles back as she asks, "Do you want to see your daddy?"

Olivia nods and babbles several words that really don't mean anything together at all, but then she asks, "Present?"

Martha laughs. "Not today, baby. You will get many presents. I promise." Sara and Charlene have practically bought enough toys and books to satisfy the curiosity of three Olivias. Martha herself got several things too: a baby's first Christmas ornament, kid-safe putty, a tiny easel, and various other little things.

It's perhaps a bit much. Her house always seems too full rather than just right these days, but she figures part of that is learning to live with others again, especially a child.

"No, Daddy!" Livvy whines.

Oh.

Martha presses a firm kiss to her daughter's hair as she picks her up and puts her in the crib. "Don't worry about Daddy's present. Let Mommy worry about that." She cups her daughter's face and grabs the small dog toy resting by the wooden bars. Martha had bought it from a small boutique after seeing Max for the first time.

It wasn't an exact match for him, but it makes her happy all the same just to watch her daughter hold it. She places it above on the dresser to 'keep watch'.

She sighs and settles into bed after taking off her makeup. Truthfully, she hadn't gotten Grinch a present. She didn't think it would go well, seeing his distinct dislike of anything related to Christmas in the first place.

Martha sleeps on it, and when she wakes up the next day, she realizes what she might be able to give him. From the attic she pulls out a box that's covered in dust from its decade out of sight and mind. Inside the firm cardboard lies a pair of leather shoes, and her heart fills at the sight.

Her father used to wear them for special occasions like Christmas. She traces the stitches around the heel and smiles. Surely the Grinch wouldn't reject to something as practical as these, she thinks. He had never picked out shoes...

She puts them to the side of her bedroom as she pulls out the crystals she was going to use in her hair. Things like these always remind her of the angel Grinch had given her that year, and she made it a point to wear something like it every Christmas, a tradition she started in high school, one she's never been able to break.

There's a tinge in her chest as she remembers the year she wore a white dress, adorned with such colorful crystals at the bodice. Augustus had complimented her by comparing her to an angel, and he had insulted the Grinch in the process. The memory is fuzzy now, but it had been something about how she looked much more like an angel than the one she was given, and she still grows frustrated at the thought of it.

It was the first and only time he brought up the Grinch to her since he had left. Martha had fled the conversation immediately only to end up crying behind someone's pie stand, and even after all that, it still just managed to be the second worst Christmas of her life.

Maybe third. She hesitates to remember them all because they truly were so bittersweet. A hopeful and dangerous part of her mind reminds her that maybe that might change tonight.

She gets her outfit ready and lays it out on the bed before making breakfast for her and Olivia. The baby eats her eggs and onion peels with gusto, happily making a mess for her mother to clean.

But before she can clean it up, there's a quick knock at her door. Martha puts Olivia in her playpen before she rushes to the door.

The Grinch is early, several hours early, and the idea makes her giddy.

But when she opens it, she's not greeted by the man she expects. Augustus Maywho stands flustered before her, and she's tempted to close the door on his face after what he said to her last.

His face is red, and he perks up at the sight of her like he always does. He always has since they were children, but it's never excited her to see it. "Martha! I was hoping to see you here."

She raises an eyebrow. "It is my house. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Her mother raised her better than to get angry. For all she knows, he might be here to make amends before the holiday fully starts.

Augustus stammers for a second before asking, "I know we've had a disagreement, but I was wondering if you would go with me to the Celebration." His lips twinge downwards before he clarifies, "And by you, I mean both of you of course. I shouldn't have said what I did before."

 _That is an understatement._ "I will be attending with her grandmothers," she says primly. "Christmas is a family affair, wouldn't you say?"

He goes quiet, and she can tell that for once he wishes Whobris was here to talk for him. Eventually he says, "Surely the O'Whos could spare you." His face turns redder. "Truthfully, Martha, I've waited for you a long time, and you've already done them such a service by taking care of his daughter. I-"

"His daughter?" She blinks and asks angrily, "What do you mean his daughter?"

Augustus face grows stony. "Don't expect me to believe you actually think she's yours. I know pumbersellas work in mysterious ways, but you haven't seen him in years." He haughtily explains, "I know you, and you wouldn't have accepted so many of my gifts if you were actually dating the Grinch. You've always believed in true love, and I can give you that if you let me."

Martha's face feels stuck, and for a while, she just stares at the outrageous man and his stupid hair. He's not wrong about the gift thing; she had willingly taken whatever trinkets and bobbles he had given her over the years. She had known why he took pleasure out of such an act, but Martha had never cared to correct him.

It was nice at times, but she had never loved him. They had never even touched!

"I will say this once more and never again," she says firmly, letting the anger boil under the surface of her skin. "Olivia is my daughter, and the Grinch is her father."

"And if he's worthy of being her father, where is he?" Augustus gestures with one hand at the town around them. "A parent should be there for their child. I can do that." He pauses, bewildered. "I can give you that. Martha, I want you to be mine. Why let anything get in our way?"

"Because she is the most important thing in my life, and if we were to get married, I know how you would treat her." She's breaking, and she can't bring herself to care. Let the dam break, let the anger show. "You would act the perfect mayor, and I would be your trophy wife, and she would be the abandoned orphan you welcomed into your home."

He looks at her and stubbornly replies, "I didn't say that."

Martha crosses her arms as she asks, "But am I wrong?"

Mayor Augustus Maywho says nothing. His eyes are full of confusion and panic. She sighs and continues, "I don't want your love, August. I never have."

His face crumbles, and his voice breaks as he asks, "But you took all my gifts. I've spent so much on you."

She sighs. "A gift should be something you're willing to give without getting anything in return." Martha places a hand on the door. "I'm sorry you can't get what you want, but I don't want to be yours."

He goes to speak, but she adds, "Grinch or not."

Augustus looks at her with a great amount of sadness. Martha goes to close the door, and his jaw snaps shut just as he disappears behind the wood.

She shakes her head. There's still the rest of the day, and he's already managed to exhaust most of her patience.

And despite her usual reservations, she lets out a low curse while Livvy is out of ear shot, and Martha exhales before returning to her daughter's side.

She'll be damned if she lets that man ruin yet another Christmas for her, so she won't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when y'all were like, "This cliffhanger better not end up with Augustus!"
> 
> I 'member.


	14. If there is a way to be together, I will walk it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family is somewhat ready for the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait. Work has started back, and it is kicking my ass hard. I hope you still enjoy this regardless.

Grinch comes down the mountain in a huff, Max trailing behind despite the man's fervent disapproval. He doesn't feel comfortable being seen even with his snazzy new clothes, and he thinks this was all a mistake, and what is he going to do when he sees Augustus? His mothers?

What if someone says something to him about Olivia? He's not a violent man, but he could be very tempted into forgetting that.

But he goes regardless, hurriedly, because he doesn't want to be late. Even if he despises the holiday, the Grinch knows how special a baby's first Christmas is down in Whoville. A sour tone crosses his mumbles and grumbles when he remembers that Livvy won't even remember all the pain and suffering he's going through for her, but he'll live.

At least, he hopes he'll live. His chest is in that now familiar state of constant soreness, that slamming and stretching of his heart. He hates feeling. He hates it passionately, and the sweet bliss of forgetting it only arrives when he's in the dead of sleep.

But he hasn't been able to sleep, not for days.

Augh, alright! He'll go, and he'll spend some time at the celebration, in front of everyone. It'll be fine! He'll just be the green, fuzzy freak he's always been because the three of them are a family now, and families celebrate together. Then, Christmas will be over! And he'll be able to finally sleep and figure out how to be a father on his own terms.

He growls out so many complaints to Max that by the time they're crossing the threshold into Whoville, he can't remember half of them. Despite his promise to socialize somewhat tonight, and his handsome yet probably expensive outfit, the Grinch wears a mask through town. It's bustling with Whos young and old, and several of them give him overly cheerful greetings.

The Grinch has made the wise and excruciating choice of wearing a Santa mask into town. While he hates the old geezer, Whos don't question anything once placated by the genuine joy they receive from looking at such an openly festive face. He snarls several times from under the mask when one too many Whos walk by and wave at him, discussing their favorite toys and gadgets. Oh, how to be ruled by Capitalism in such a way! Truly a material holiday, he despises it.

He fidgets with his tie and ignores the temptation to just take it off. Something something something, maybe Martha would prefer it on, something something something, he wants to look good for her, something something something.

There's less Whos out to bother him when he reaches her house. Most of them are probably frantically getting ready in their own homes, fiddling with their outfits and putting the final touches on their dessert trays.

Cookies, by the fireplace. A cheaply made thanks for the expensive gifts that they'll open tomorrow.

Max barks at him, and the Grinch realizes that he's been standing on her front stoop for a few minutes now, just trying to get his bearings. He makes some silly faces to stop his mouth from making such a painful frown, and he exhales shakily as he knocks. The mask comes off, and he drops it by the side of her door out of sight.

He waits for just a little while before Martha opens the door quickly and stares up at him in surprise. "You're here early," she says with a strange tone in her voice. 

"Sorry?" The Grinch shuffles a bit on his feet. He wasn't aware that meeting at five was a firm requirement.

"No! No, it's fine." Martha looks him over, cheeks reddening, and he grows giddy at the sight. She seemingly likes what she sees, and he can't help but let a dopey smile take over his face. He wants to kiss her.

But he remembers why he's here with a sombering thought and stays still.

She brushes lint off her shirt and doesn't meet his eye as she thinks for a moment. "I've just had a long day, and I haven't been able to get ready yet, and-" There's wailing from behind her, and she looks at him with a tired smile. "Could you sit with Livvy while I get dressed? I won't take long."

His lip twitches, but his eyes widen as he realizes something. "I don't know what to do to make her stop crying," he admits grumpily. "You'll have to teach me."

"She's just bored. Trust me, I've checked everything else." Martha leads him inside with one delicate hand, Max eagerly following behind the two of them. The Grinch closes the door behind him as she disappears up the stairs to what he assumes is her bedroom.

He watches her for a moment before another loud wail pierces his ears, and he makes his way over to the sound with a grumble.

But when the Grinch catches sight of his daughter in her playpen, his heart swells, and the pain he's grown accustomed to feeling seems muted. The baby stops crying at the sight of him and bashes her tiny fists against the plastic that keeps her from crawling wildly over Martha's house.

"Don't do that," he says simply as he picks her up out of the tiny prison and settles on the couch, holding his daughter by his chest. He wags a finger at her with amusement. "Sometime you'll break that thing, and I don't want your mom mad at me for it, so you better do that when I'm not here."

She just looks at him and reaches out with one hand to tug at the fur on chin. She explores his face with a giggle, nearly sticking a finger up his snout. For that, the Grinch gives her an exaggerated snarl, and she laughs.

The Grinch can feel his mouth take on a weird expression as a fond smile grows on his lips. He asks, "Livvy, huh?"

The baby perks at the sound of her name and babbles, swinging her arms by his face. Eventually she says, "Livvy!"

"Yes," he says softly, "Livvy."

The Grinch doesn't know how long they sit there like that, and frankly, he doesn't care. Max watches from across the room by some food bowls Martha must have set out just for him, and there are muddled sounds coming from the street outside, but even in this strange moment, the Grinch feels a startling sense of peace sitting there with his daughter.

Like there is nothing here that is or ever will be wrong.

Like he can stay.

Martha joins them, her footsteps loud from her heels, and she smiles brightly at him. Despite the holiday theme he loathes so entirely, she looks amazing, not that there's ever been a moment in their lives where she wasn't the prettiest Who in town. Her heels are red, and the dress is golden, and her hair twinkles with little jewels. Something about it feels _so_ _familiar_ , but he can't put a finger on it.

Martha's eyes shine with tears, and he carefully stands with Livvy secure in his arms. The Grinch gives her a hesitant grin. For as annoying as the Whobilation will be, he can't help but admit that he'll be proud to have her on his arm tonight. "Are we ready to go? Get this over with?"

She gets a weird look on her face, and then she says, "Sorry, I just..." She tilts her head. "The two of you look so cute together."

"Huh?" He looks down at the bundle of fluff he's carrying, and he realizes that Olivia is wearing a red dress that simply shines pinkish in the light and one little holly hairclip.

They match.

He bites back a groan simply because he knows that this made Martha happy. But in his opinion, wearing matching clothes for the Whobilation is a tad too far. The Grinch didn't have to care about things like this before, a thought that scares him, and he looks back at Martha nervously. "We do?"

The light in her eyes is blinding. "You do," she says warmly. "You do."

He nods his head cautiously. "Okay," he says quietly. "Shall we go?"

"Yeah, I think-" Martha cuts herself off, and he can feel his palms grow sweaty.

"What? What is it?"

"One moment." She goes back upstairs, and he nervously bounces Livvy lightly in his arms as the baby laughs. Martha comes back holding a box, and she places it on the couch besides him. "They're shoes! I thought about them because my dad used to wear them to the Whobilation, and I thought, maybe, they would fit." She's practically rambling, "Not that you have to wear them, or keep them, but I would like someone to have them."

She makes his heart hurt too damn much, and he can't help but ask, "And you want that someone to be me?"

Martha nods silently. The Grinch sighs, putting Livvy in her stroller by the door, and returns to sit on the couch and take off the shoes he had on. He had found the black pair of loafers fresh out of the Dumpit a few weeks ago, and they were the only shoes he had that weren't nearly destroyed from the dirt and snow of Mt. Crumpit. Martha sits beside him, and he exhales as she places a hand on his back.

The pair he takes out of the box are beautiful, a reddish brown that reminds him of the waistcoat he's currently wearing, and Martha rubs lightly between his shoulder blades. "Grinch, if you don't like them, that's alright with me."

"No, no, that's not a problem." He puts them on, and they seem to fit, so he stands and spins for her with a practiced flourish. "Do you think they suit me?" His voice goes lower as he thinks of what to say next, and he takes a daring step forward. "Do I look ever the part of your handsome date? Of the What that stole you from all the other Whos?" The Grinch lets himself grin hungrily at that one as her face grows red, and he leans in to look down at her on the couch. "Well, do I?"

Martha gapes at him, and he feels the familiar prickling of anxiety in his gut. Just as he's about to pretend he didn't say anything, she squeaks, "Yes."

Olivia drops something from her stroller that meets the ground with a loud bang, and both of them practically jump towards the door. Martha picks up the wood block with a sigh, putting it in the under-basket, and the Grinch calls out, "Max! Are you staying or going?"

The dog doesn't move, but he looks at his owner with a weird glance of amusement, and the man is reminded yet again that perhaps Max could have a little more respect for the person who feeds him.

Grumbling as he opens the door and slightly peeved that they were interrupted, the Grinch lets Martha push the stroller outside into the cold of Whoville, and he follows closely behind. The door shuts behind them with a quiet click, and he winces at the sound.

But Martha glances back at him with love in her eyes, and he swallows a whimper as something crucial and precious shifts in his chest.

The Grinch knows that he's in too deep to quit, that he's been drowning in an unknown sea since he stared through her window. He just hopes he can get this next part right. If not for him, for her and their daughter.

They deserve that. They deserve that more than any other person he's known. They deserve to be happy, even if they're happier than him.

He gives Martha his best fake smile and hopes that's enough to placate her worries. It must be because she turns from him and coos at their daughter something quite gentle.

Good, he thinks disjointedly, good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been calling it Christmas Celebration instead of Whobilation this whole time, so guess what? They're synonyms now, so haha.


	15. All I've ever wanted.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's right there for both of them.

When he notices Whos on the street looking at him with mouths agape, the Grinch takes to standing right next to Martha, letting his hand drift besides hers aimlessly. His blood runs hot as his skin grows clammy and his clothes itch. The familiar pricks of anxiety stab at his gut, and he lets out a shaky sigh.

And it turns into a yelp as Martha's fingers softly stroke his. His eyes meet hers as his head turns to face her, and she looks at him with worry. She starts to let go. "I'm sorry, I thought-"

No. He's nearly frantic as he laces their hands together, but his touch is still gentle, and he can feel the veins from his palm to his heart burn. "Don't worry about it," he mumbles, looking away from her to pretend nothing special has happened. He sneers at one Who openly watching and feels good when the other man practically runs back inside his building. "I don't mind," he says quietly, "It feels nice."

They walk in silence besides the sounds of their daughter grumbling under her blankets.

Martha squeezes his hand gently when they pass by a crowd of laughing teens, and the Grinch lets that ground him as he listens to the boys quiet at the sight of him. One of the Whos whisper something, but she pulls the Grinch forward with purpose as if they were meant for greater things than getting into fights with high schoolers.

Like being a family.

Like celebrating Christmas. He can almost feel himself gag at the thought of it, but the woman besides him hums something familiar, and his face twists as he tries to place it. The Grinch turns to look at her, the crystals in her hair glinting like the snow and lights that surround them.

"What is that? That song?"

Martha pauses. "Oh, it's just something I sing when I'm happy. That's all." A blush covers her face, but she's trying to look poised as she says, "It's just something my parents used to sing to me. I sing it to Livvy, sometimes."

"Well, it sounds familiar."

She looks at him with a fond, forlorn look. "I probably sung it on our walks back then."

His heart clenches as he nods. "That... that sounds right." Because it does, because he can remember faintly a distant memory of her in the sun, head held up high as she sang, and he wishes he could remember all of it. "I think I know it now."

She doesn't say anything and looks away, but she continues humming with the red still on her cheeks.

He realizes eventually that they're coming to the middle of town when the noise grows even louder, and the Grinch exhales what feels like part of his soul as he decides for the last time that he can't run away anymore. Martha's hand curls around his in a curious lock, and his heart pangs as he realizes it's so he won't let go.

He squeezes her hand gently as he says, "So we were gonna see my mothers? Is that what's happening?"

Martha looks at him, and he stops breathing at the sight of the smile on her face.

She's practically glowing.

"Oh, Grinch." And like that, it's almost like they aren't surrounded by his mortal enemies, like he's not about to see the people who brought him in that cold winter night, like it's not Christmas the very next day.

All he sees is her, and their daughter, and he feels so warm. He would label it disgusting if he was analyzing the moment from his home up on Crumpit, but here, here it feels like something greater.

"They love you," she says.

He tsks. "Martha, I-"

"Grinch?" And like that, he's gone back to hating the entirety of Whoville with such passion, and his nose flares with contempt as he turns to see which one of them has dared to interrupt him.

But it's a woman, and her hand is resting against her chest, and there's another woman behind her on the verge of tears, and his Ma cries out, "Charlene would have made you a sweater!"

And he rolls his eyes as his Mutter says, "We missed you!" The old biddies reach for him, and the Grinch realizes with a grimace that Martha's let go of him in favor of lifting Olivia out of the stroller. His Ma and Mutter pull him into a tight hug, one he reluctantly allows them. He can't help but notice how tall he is compared to them now.

Were they always this small?

His Ma pulls away first, but his Mutter holds onto his arm, looking up at him like he's a present. "You look so handsome," She says warmly. "Are you excited for Whobilation?"

"What?" He doesn't understand.

"For the events!" She tugs at him excitedly. "You have to join in. You'd have so much fun."

He must look lost because Martha clears her throat delicately. "Perhaps the sack race? You were always so good at competitions."

The Grinch looks at the women around him. "No," he protests, "I can't do it, honestly. I'm not ready." His mothers continue looking at him expectantly, and he waves his hands halfheartedly as he adds, "It's too much, too soon!"

"You don't have to," Martha says. She looks down at her daughter as Olivia laughs at his misfortune. Yep. That's his daughter alright. "I just thought you might like it."

His mothers don't say anything to that, seemingly focused on their granddaughter's joy at the moment, and the Grinch tries his best to give Martha his best save-me-eyes. She smiles softly at him and turns to look at Sara. "I know you two are happy to see him too, but would you mind holding Livvy before the events start?"

Sara gives her son a knowing look. "Oh, we'd love to, dear. Does he know you've won the lights contest yet again?"

The Grinch answers with a puzzled, "No? So what?"

Charlene grins. "It means she stands on stage during the ceremony! She's the second host, after Augustus himself."

He feels a rush of jealousy run through his spine. "Oh, is that so?"

"Yes, so you'll have to spend your time together now," Sara pointedly adds before taking Olivia from Martha and smiling at the baby. His Ma looks back at him with a clear look of love. "Just come back before it starts."

"Fine," he grumbles. "I'll see you two in a bit, I guess."

His mothers wave them off, and Martha takes his hand in hers once more as they circle around the festivities. There are booths selling a variety of knickknacks, foods, and other joyous things, but he shuns all of them.

Martha is quiet besides him, taking in all of the merriment with a cautious smile. The Grinch is so focused on her that he almost doesn't notice the droves of Whos staring at the two of them with astonishment and rumor behind their eyes.

Whatever they thought they knew is clearly wrong because what they see isn't a deadbeat dad but rather a man very much in love with Ms. Whovier. Whobris himself goes to deliver the news to Augustus once he realizes what's happening.

Cindy Lou Who passes by with her parents and sulks as they tug her away from the couple. "Can I see them after the ceremony?"

Betty nods, and the girl grows content, watching the pair until they disappear out of sight.

The Grinch and Martha eventually come to a stop near some smaller, empty alley. They stand in silence, and he takes advantage of the situation to ask, "How long is the ceremony?"

"I'm not sure off the top of my head. It won't be long. The Cheermeister's relatively old this year too, so some of the events will probably be a bit short." She looks up at him, and he moves closer to her, resting an arm around her waist. "You can leave after the ceremony. I know it's been a long day for you. I won't mind."

Hmph, like he'd give up the opportunity to walk her home at the least. Does she not get that? He taps her fingers against her side lightly as he ponders what to say, and his eyebrows jump as she gasps and pulls away from him slightly. "Are you ticklish?"

She seems to shrink a little as she nods in response. The Grinch grins, but he pulls her back towards him and keeps his grip firm against her hip. "Don't worry," he chuckles. "I might be mean and green, but I'm not cruel."

Martha's eyes flash, and she bites her lip. He doesn't hide his open appreciation of that fact, letting his eyes linger on her mouth at the sight. "Unless you want me to be?"

She squeaks like a mouse, and he can feel a flare of pride at the sound. He moves, his lips daringly close to her cheek, and he says, "Hello, Martha. I think I asked you a question."

"And I think I'm needed soon," she says in a daze.

He slowly presses a kiss on the edge of ear, pleased at the sound of her breath catching. "Oh?"

She shuffles a bit against his grip. "For the ceremony."

"Oh." He huffs, his mouth hot against her skin. The Grinch pulls away from her. "Right."

"Sorry," she says.

He looks at the ground at the shoes she gave him. "For what?" He forces a laugh. "You didn't do anything."

Martha doesn't say anything at first, but she sighs as she asks, "Isn't that the point?"

The Grinch lets out a low growl, one that rumbles like a purr. "You don't have to do anything just because I want to."

"I didn't say I didn't want to." His eyes flicker to the sight of her looking at the sky. She looks so sad, like she had right before he kissed her for the first time. He doesn't understand. "I want to, Grinch."

"Then, why do you not seem... Why do you... Why does this not work?" He gestures between them and frowns, his fractured heart sinking deep into his chest. "Is it because I'm hairy?"

"What? No, no." Martha looks at him and sweeps her eyes across his body. "Grinch, I like what you look like. Hair and all."

"I don't believe you," he says tiredly.

"I do!"

"Oh, yeah?" He leans in, half-tempted not to play this game. "And what do you like best then, huh?"

A strange smile covers Martha's face. "Your muscles," she admits with embarrassment.

He blinks. "What?"

"Your muscles, Grinch." She looks off at the wall again and ignores how close they are. "I like them. I like how strong you are. I always have."

His face grows hot, and he quickly adds, "I like your hair."

Martha raises a hand to touch her updo carefully. "You do?"

"Yep," he says, and he looks at it with curiosity. In fact, he looks over all of her, and the cogs in his brain smoke as he tries to process what he sees. The color of the crystals in her hair, the gold of her dress, it's all pointing to a conclusion that causes a raw, open panic in the Grinch as he asks, _"Are you dressed as the angel I made you?"_

She says nothing. He stands and pulls her towards him by her shoulders. "Martha."

"I didn't think you'd notice," she says.

He stares at her, baffled. "Why?"

Martha raises a hand to his face, letting her palm rest against his cheek. "It felt right." Her eyes start to shine lightly with tears. "Why not try to rewrite the worst Christmas of my life when I've finally gotten what I've wanted for so long?"

His eyes move frantically, and he shakes his head in confusion. "I don't understand," he says brokenly.

"I've waited for you to come back every year since you've left. You were all I wished for." The confession is soft, almost lost to the nothingness around them, but he hangs on to it for dear life. The Grinch pulls her in closer, her nose against his. His eyes are dark and hungry for some greater truth.

"You don't want presents?"

She laughs, an ugly laugh, and it shocks them both. "I don't care about those the way I do you. They're just a thing. You're you."

His mouth is dry and his voice rough when he says, "You have me. I'm not going anywhere." A tear rolls down her cheek, and he lifts his hand, wiping it away with his thumb. "I promise. I promise you, Martha. I think I get this whole Christmas thing now, at least."

Yet she still says nothing, and the Grinch growls deep in his throat at the pain of his heart resettling in his chest for the last time. He hopes quite sincerely that no one stumbles across them before he can get this out of his system.

"It scares me how much I love you, both of you."

Martha stills, face frozen, eyes wide.

He fights the urge to ramble, and he says, "I'm so in love with you, Martha May."

Her nose scrunches as she starts to both giggle and sob at once, and he pulls her in tight as she shakes. He's losing his inner battle to stay stoic, and he says against her hair, "Back then, all I wanted for Christmas was for you to smile because of me." He chortles. "I don't think you crying is what I had in mind."

She laughs hard against him, and he sighs, content to stand there like this for the rest of the night. But when she stops trembling in his arms, he asks, "I guess we have to go back now, huh?"

Martha thumps a fist lightly against his chest as she pulls back. "I probably look like a mess."

His tone is fond when he says, "You look wonderful."

She rolls her eyes at him and plucks a small mirror out of her dress pocket, wincing at her reflection. He sits with her as she wipes at her smudged makeup and fixes what little she can.

And if you were to ask the Grinch, he would still tell you that she was prettier than ever before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. We're finally coming to a close. I hope all of you are doing well and that you enjoy this chapter at least half as much as I do.

**Author's Note:**

> So someone said babyfic? WHICH MADE ME REALIZE...
> 
> I now have an excuse to use the word pumbersella :D


End file.
